Bounty
by Adolescent Rage
Summary: Ranger has finally met his match in the form of a brown haired woman from the burg. AU. Ranger POV.


**Chapter One**

My Uncle Ray once told me that you had to pick your battles.

"Life is one big decision." He had explained, "It always boils down to what you decide to do. Cause and effect, my boy. You do this, this happens. You do that, that happens. So the key to winning the game, to having a good life, is to choose options that had the better outcomes. For example, " He had held up his beer. "Alcohol is bad for you. We all know that. But, drinking this alcohol is going to keep me from listening to your Aunt Miranda whine about how I don't buy her enough jewelry. Should I choose the beer or the whining?"

I had pointed at the beer and he had laughed out right, smiled and said, "Smart boy." and chugged the whole thing down.

The next morning, he was found dead. Alcohol poising.

To this day, I still wonder what would have happened if he had chosen the whining.

My name is Ranger. I'm standing in the middle of someone's lawn, I'm out of breath and I'm pissed.

"You shot me!" Screamed the man before me as he clutched his leg. His eyes widened and he stared at me with terrified surprise. "You shot me!"

I aimed the gun at his other leg and calmly said, "I've got two more bullets left. You can either try to run again, in which case, I will blow off your foot, or you can quietly come with me and I can refrain from wasting them." I cocked the trigger back. "Choose wisely."

"I'm coming."

"Smart man."

I cuffed his hands behind his back and hauled him to his feet. "Aw man, my wife is never gonna let me hear the end of this. How is she suppose to believe that some guy dressed in all black came and shot me and then took me off somewhere? She'll think I'm cheating and lying. Aw man, my fucking leg hurts. I need to go to the hospital. Can you take me?"

"No."

"Come on man, don't you have a heart?"

"No." I told him stoically.

"Boy...Ranger..." He said, staring at the nameplate on my shirt. "you sure are mean. And what kind of name is Ranger anyway? Your mom lose a bet?"

In actuality, I was born Ricardo Carlos Manoso and the youngest of six children to Maria Manoso, my virtuous, proud, Cuban mother who, if she was present right now, would angrily reprimand me for shooting a defenseless man. All throughout my childhood, my mother acted as the beacon to moral good. If I wasn't doing something the Lord would appreciate, my mother would, tactlessly, let me know. She told me all good little boys minded their manners and were polite and obedient. Unfortunately, as a teenager, I was anything but. Those years had been tremulous for me. My family had never had much money and my father had done all he could to keep food on the table.

We had stayed in an apartment complex in Newark, New Jersey with an odd number of junkies and drug dealers and prostitutes. My mother tried to keep us all in line but raising six children in a run down building we could hardly afford kept her busy. I had never told her about how much I was teased for the color of my skin or the texture of my hair. I never told anyone. I got caught up in the wrong crowd pretty quickly and was sent to juvie before I even hit puberty.

Even though she never admitted it, I knew I must have broken my mother's heart and, when I was let out, my parents sent me to Miami to live with some relatives. I had an epiphany of sorts while I was there. I decided to make up for running wild so I joined the army. It was where I acquired the nickname "Ranger" along with the skills, attitude and raw intelligence for what I do today.

Notwithstanding, I couldn't say that my mother would entirely approve of what I do today. In fact, she lectures me about it whenever we speak but I'm almost positive that she thinks I've grown into a much finer man and can handle that I dodge around a few moral rules.

The guy I had cuffed and shot was Benny Lozowitz and he had been arrested for exposing himself to senior citizens at a retirement home. He was six foot seven, cropped dark hair, little beady eyes. The intelligence level of a squirrel. After being bonded out by Vincent Plum, the man who owned the only Bond Enforcement agency in Trenton, Mr. Lozowitz took it upon himself to miss his court appointment. Which meant that Vincent lost the money he invested which meant that Benny turned into a FTA or Failure To Appear AKA a skip. Then it became my duty to drag him back to a cell until Vincent bonded him back out again.

In lament's terms, I was a bounty hunter. Well actually, I was security expert doubling as a bounty hunter. I partially owned my own security company in the high end of town and I moonlighted as a bonds enforcement agent for extra money, not that I especially needed it. Honestly, I think it was more about the fun of it than the cash. It wasn't hard and I was good at both jobs. The only days I dreaded were the days when I had to go after people like Benny Lozowitz.

Benny's excuse for not showing up at court had been pathetic but the overall message was there : He didn't want to go back to jail.

No one ever did.

Unfortunately, I didn't give a rat's ass.

I half dragged, half carried the large man to my sleek, black Truck and threw him into the passenger seat. He whimpered and groaned. "I can't believe you shot me."

"You tasered me." With my own fucking taser. Then ran away and made me chase him through bushes and thorns. Then tried to strangle me. He was lucky to be alive.

"I didn't mean to, honest. I just can't go to jail. I get jail sick. I break out in hives. Please man, let me go."

With one quick thrust of the but of my gun, Benny fell unconscious. I slammed the door, got behind the wheel and drove off.

o0o0o

The security company I own is located on Haywood street in Trenton proper. Although it is rather large, I've managed to make it inconspicuous. The only thing that identifies it is the lone sign that displays the name, Rangeman. It's seven stories high with two floors dedicated to employee quarters and the top floor is my private lair. The rest of the floors are run the security operation. We service private residences and commercial properties for clients who need a high level of security. This is what my mother condones. Protecting those who need protecting. However, I keep a portion of my dealings in secret. Besides finding bodies and protecting bodies, I sometimes exterminate bodies for others that will remain unmentioned. Some might call it mercenary work. More often than not, those jobs have me leaving the country for an odd number of days or weeks. My mother makes me promise her that I'm not doing anything shady and I do, just so she won't worry.

But I always manage to cross my fingers when she's not looking.

The qualifications and rules for the men I employ are pretty simple. They dress in all black, all the time. They carry guns. They shoot guns when necessary. They wear nametags. They don't slack off. I run a very efficient business and I get the job done.

Vincent Plum's bail bonds business is about as opposite of Rangeman as any business can get. It's located on Hamilton Avenue, squashed into a dry cleaner and a used-book store, up the street from the Hospital. There's a front room with a large plate-glass window that shows any passerby who is inside. Inside is a front room that is home to a couch, a desk and the owner's inner office.

I have no real qualm against Vincent. He might run things differently and I've heard rumors about what a sexually, demented lunatic he is but he's much too afraid of me to rub me the wrong way. Half of the time, we don't even speak. I get files from Connie Rosolli, the receptionist. Dark hair, bright red lipstick, dark eyes. Connie sits at the desk that blocks Vinnie's office from the outside world. She's connected to the mob, is about as good as me when it comes to working computers and has a chest that is far too big to overlook.

Alongside me, the only other human being crazy enough in Trenton to hunt down criminals was a man named Morty Beyers. But word on the street was that he had a busted appendix. So that left me with double the skips.

"Great timing. Got another batch." Connie said as I stepped inside. When I went to take the bundle of files, our fingers bumped against each others and I saw her face flush. I turned to hide my smile. My effect on woman always put me in a good mood. There was always a mix between fear and lust. I'm perfectly aware of the impression I make on others and okay with it. I was five foot and ten inches of Carmel colored, Cuban American male. I was consistently dressed in black with dark eyes and dark hair and stayed in shape. I was a spectacle, if nothing more.

I flipped through the files. There had to be at least thirty. "I brought in Benny Lozowitz today." I told her.

I could hear the surprise in her tone. "Wow. That makes ten in two days. You are on a roll."

"I just hope Beyers returns soon. I don't think I have the patience to do this full term."

Connie made a sound that told me she didn't believe me. "Hell, at the rate you're going now, I wouldn't put it past Vinnie to fire that slug and employ you full time."

I smiled again, thanked her and made my way back to my car. I set the files on the seat beside me and picked up the top one. I opened the file and read the information. I glanced at my watch. It was a little after five o'clock. I had time to bring in another before I had to head back to Rangeman for a meeting. I drove out of the lot and skimmed over the file once more, pausing at the name.

"Stephanie Plum, it's your not so lucky day."


End file.
